thé à la grenouille
by Moka-girl
Summary: (Political&Psychological fic) Due to a filing error, young Harry Potter receives an invitation to Beauxbâtons while with the Dursleys in France. The school, eager to get it's claws on the famous Boy Who Lived, doesn't repair the mistake, and Harry is forced to attend a school where he is unable to even comprehend the language the classes are taught in.(Twist on the cliché)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

_A/N: This will be written in short chapters of minimum 1K. I hope this will be well-received, it's the first time I write a HP story._

_Full summary: Due to a filing error, young Harry Potter receives an invitation to Beauxbâtons while with the Dursleys in France. The school, eager to get it's claws on the famous Boy Who Lived, doesn't repair the mistake, and Harry is forced to attend a school where he is unable to even comprehend the language the classes are taught in. (Twist on the Beauxbâtons!Harry theme. Political and psychological fic. Shows that unlike what people seem to believe, Beauxbâtons isn't necessarily better than Hogwarts, the latter being the best wizarding school there is, and that, for a reason.)_

**VERY IMPORTANT**_: When I say political and psychological fic, I also mean this will be a story filled with manipulations (political machinery) in order to sway Harry into doing this or that action. I wrote this story mainly from Harry's pov, and he can't see the manipulations. However, since I believe the readers of this fic are older than him, they will be able to see it. I wrote this as a story to be analyzed. I offer hints to the characters thoughts, and I give you their actions, but it's up to you to decipher their motivations and guess what they're up to. Harry's too young to properly think for himself._

_Read this story under the assumption that everything an adult character does is done with manipulative intent. Especially the adult characters that have no personal connection to Harry. If they suddenly decide to, let's say, give him money to spend on __school stuff, do not think '_oh, how nice!'_ but instead think _'now, I wonder why he did that, and what he thinks he'll get out of it?'

_I do not believe Harry would be invited to France without certain people intending to use him. Of course, he will eventually realize the manipulations, but it'll take a while. Until then, you'll have to read this carefully and analyze the characters to understand this fully. I will, from time to time, give you some examples of things to be analyzed in my ANs, with explanations and stuff, in case you don't really know how to do this._

_I'm a big fan of the author Gustave Flaubert, and I tried to imitate his style. I also tried to write this with Guy de Maupassant's writing technique in mind, but less, because I think Flaubert better at writing. These names are the names of famous French authors, both dead, that wrote many books that are now classics._

_._

**Chapter one**

Yawning, Harry padded out of the living room, where Uncle and Aunt had begun exchanging furious whispers. He walked down the hall and over to the entrance. His small hand turned the key and, when the resulting click was heard, reached up to grasp the handle of the door and push it down.

There was a man on the other side.

"Bonjour," said the man.

Harry noted that he was wearing strange clothes, unsuited for the mountain. They looked like what Uncle's work friends wore, those same fancy suits, but with frills added, like on a girl's dress.

"Puis-je m'entretenir avec tes parents?" continued the frilly man.

Taking a step back, Harry turned and shuffled back to the living room, leaving the front door half-open, so the man knew he'd come back.

He could hear the Adults talking.

"Too early, should've known they'd trick us, with their abnormal ways…!" Aunt was saying. When she saw him, she closed her mouth and stopped talking.

"There's someone at the door," Harry informed them. "He's dressed funny."

That last sentence prompted a reaction. The Dursley Adults shared a worried glance, and Aunt hurried towards the kitchen. Uncle looked at Harry.

"Go to your room, boy. This is… Well, a problem adults have to discuss."

Usually, Uncle gave only orders, and never explanations. The fact that he had broken that inofficial rule prompted Harry to obey, no questions asked. So with a small sigh, Harry left, attempting to walk slowly so he could keep Uncle in his sights for a long as possible. Just before he disappeared into his room, he saw Uncle reach the door, his expression a mix of resigned and furious.

The door closed, and Harry was left alone the room.

The bedroom wasn't really his - it was shared between Cousin and himself, as there were only two rooms in the chalet. It was nice, though. Rustic, with wooden walls and visible support beams. The decoration was a bit old fashioned, but apparently that was normal, according to Aunt. All chalets looked like this, she'd say whenever he commented on the appearance of the place.

Not knowing how long he had to wait, Harry settled down on the bed - _his _bed - that was near the window, with a picture book in his hands. He looked at the colours, and the figures on it, not understanding much. It had been bought in this country, and so was in French, a language Harry couldn't understand.

The wall separating his room from the living room was thick , so nothing was heard, though from time to time he could swear he heard Uncle's raised voice.

There was a faint prickling sensation on Harry's pack, up to the nape of his neck. Slowly, he turned around.

There was nobody there.

He saw only a closed window, showing the street outside, devoid of people despite the warm summer day. The lack of human activity was understandable; Aunt had told him that people only came to Morzine in the winter, to ski. They had come now, completely out of season, to avoid the crowds, and have a nice vacation. Harry didn't like it. Everything was closed down, and they always had to drive for ages to go down to the nearest town to buy groceries, and other necessities.

His gaze went back to the door.

_It's not fair,_ he thought. Dudley had gone to play outside, and judging by how long he had been gone, he was most likely Up To No Good. Harry was always good; it wasn't his fault that the vase had fallen! It had happened on its own! And now he was stuck in the chalet, with Uncle and Aunt as they bickered about what they wanted to do during the week, while never actually doing anything. Harry was never Up To No Good - he was always nice, and polite, and he was only mean to dummies, like Sarah Goodnew, or Piers Polkiss. And sometimes he put ink in their bags, but that was only because they were mean to him, and he never knew what to say back, not being very good at fast retorts, so he had to find other ways to punish them back.

At least the letter had been interesting. Harry had thought it seemed fun, with all the curving lines and stuff, though it was all written in French.

There had been a really impressive signature at the end, with the letters written really prettily. Next to it, there had been a line with several small dots. Since Harry had found the letter, he had allowed himself to sign it to have something to do, trying to make it as neat as the illegible pretty name next to it. He had failed, and, unhappy, had thrown out the letter.

"Boy!" hissed Aunt, bringing him out of his thoughts. She was standing next to the now-open door, and had probably been trying to get his attention for some time.

"Yes?" Harry asked. Did she need help with something? Or perhaps she didn't want him to stay in the room, doing nothing productive?

Aunt seemed in a state of distress, her eyes wide. "Did you receive a letter during our stay?"

Harry was surprised by the emphasis on the words. It seemed the question was important.

He thought of the pretty letter he had received. It had been stuck on the outside of the window, against the glass, during a rainy day. Surprisingly, the water had simply glided off it, as if it were waterproof. That had been what had caught his interest, initially.

"...yes?"

That was the confirmation Aunt needed. She advanced upon him, and he raised his book to protect himself. But it was too late; she caught him by his sleeve and pulled him out of his room. He had to hop to keep up, unable to run sideways and unbalanced by her grip.

Finally, she dumped him in front of Uncle and Frilly Man.

"There he is, Vernon! And he told me he signed it! This…" Aunt looked at Frilly Man. "This 'man' was telling the truth."

"Preposterous!" shouted Uncle. "You told me yourself that the blasted thing would come when he turns eleven!"

"What blasted thing?" asked Harry, parrotting Uncle.

"Silence!" ordered Uncle, at the same time Aunt said, "Language!"

_Sorry,_ thought Harry resentfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Writing a French accent is hard. I know how it sounds, but to transcribe that and write it down so that it is readable as it is pronounced… really, it's difficult.**

**Thanks for all my reviewers, you made me happy, guys! Shout out to an anonymous guest, Delphi Psmith and TheBlackSeaReaper!**

-x-x-x-

Once Harry finished explaining, there was a silence. The Adults thought of what to do. Aunt, no longer needed, left the room. Uncle took a step towards the boy, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, glanced at Frilly Man, shivered, and closed his mouth. That was that.

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to do. He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, pulling it up and down, and then up and down again.

zip

zip

zip

"This man works for the school that sent you that letter. His name's Mister Beaner."

zip

zip

zip

zip

Frilly Man straightened his back. "I weel breenk 'im to our Min'stry to solve zis."

_ziiiiip_

Uncle seemed uncomfortable. "They told us… the letter was supposed to arrive when he's eleven, not _now_."

"I can azure you dat it iz norrmawl. All our students starrt at eight yearrz old." The Frilly Man adjusted his tie. "I weel breenk him back zis eevening."

Harry half-expected Uncle to become red and throw out the Frilly Man. He did neither of those things.

"Very well. Just…" Uncle looked at Harry, his stare unreadable. "Come back in time for supper."

-x-x-x-

"I am Christophe Binnert," said the Frilly man, once they were outside.

"Chwistoph Beaner?"

The Adult sighed.

"Call me Mister Binnert."

Harry didn't know what to do next. They were outside, looking at a few chalets by the outskirts of Morzine. The sun was gently warming them up, with more of a breeze than Harry would have liked.

"Before goink to ze Min'stry, I must eat lunch. I haff not eaten yet." Mister Frilly Beaner extended his arm. "Hold on to me, we are goink to _apparaître _to ze town wer ze restaurant iz."

Puzzled, Harry tried to make sense of what the man had said, but found he couldn't. How were they going to the restaurant? Did the man have a car? Harry could only see the one rented by the Dursleys for the duration of the vacation, but none other.

Trusting, he held on to the Frilly Man's arm. The jacket - vest? blazer? - was made of something soft and warm, and that was the only thing convincing Harry to not let go.

"Zis might be a bit _bizarre_, but it iz only temporary," the man said, tightening their grip.

And with a sharp crack, they dissappeared.

Barely a second later, Harry found himself on his knees, tears down his face, retching. Mister Frilly Beaner had the dubious pleasure of seeing what he had eaten earlier today.

"I am sorry, Mistah Potter. Normally, we nevahr Apparate children, because zey cannot take it, but I had thought that with you…" the Beaner trailed off, pursing his lips.

Never again, thought Harry, was he going to do this. He felt terrible.

The Adult placed a hand on his shoulder, looking faintly worried.

"What was that thing you did? It was just like…" Harry hesitated over the word. Uncle never liked when he spoke of it. "It was just like _magic_."

The Frilly Beaner frowned. "Yes, it iz magic. Did your family not explain zat to you? Zey are Moldus, yes, but zey are fameely, and must know of mageeck."

Harry was having a difficult time understanding everything this strange man said. He was talking funny, like he didn't know how to speak.

"Why can't you speak right?" Harry asked boldly.

One of the man's eyebrows went up. "_Change de sujet plus vite qu'Elsa ne change de chaussures…_" he muttered.

There it was! That funny French-speak! How Harry wished he could understand it; it was really annoying that he didn't know half of what the man was saying.

"Yoo are _un sorcier_, Harry. You can do magic. Ze letter you signud waz an invitation to our French School of Magick, one of ze best! It is a marvellous palace where all magic people like you go to learn magic. It will be like a home, you will sleep zere and eat zere like ze other children, and you will learn how to do marvellous things, like fly, or turn chairs into animals!"

Harry, despite still having a bad vomit taste on his tongue, leaned forward to listen as the man told him all about the things he would do. That magic school seemed really interesting, but the Dursleys wouldn't want to pay for such things. Harry knew it was most likely expensive, and despite his excitment, he also knew, in a rare show of maturity for a child his age, that he wouldn't be allowed to go to that wonderful school full of things beyond his childish comprehension. The Dursleys would never want to pay for all that.

"Come," said the man. "We vill wash your face."

Following the Frilly Man apprehensively, Harry tried tu understand where they were. They had been outside the chalet just minutes ago, and then the Man had done that strange trick, and Harry had vomited, and the man had talked about that school, and somewhere in the middle of all that, he realized they were somewhere else. Somewhere _other._

It was a small town, and not many people were seen in the street. Harry could see a woman walking by, with a strange, pointed hat, and there was a man with three eyes further away, chatting with a young teenage boy.

Harry greatly wanted to ask _Who are they?_ but he didn't have the courage to, and wasn't sure if the Frilly Man would give a satisfactory answer, seeing as Harry couldn't comprehend his words most of the time. Instead, he allowed himself to be led away, turning to an alleyway full of small moving lights that illuminated everything around them brightly. Harry covered his eyes.

"_Estellettes_," explained the Beaner, pointing at the lights. "They are often used in ze streets, to light up so people can see."

They finally came out on another street, a bigger, more crowded one. There were screeching owls, and wailing infants, and people shouting out about their wares to potential customers, and adults talking, and people haggling, and a cat yowling at a young overeager child, and…

"Harry, do not stand zere, com wiz me."

And Harry was dragged off again, staring in awe at a world he had never known existed.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the comments, guys! Here are the ones I want the readers to applaud: nokeyunderscore, The Incongruous Infidel, Slytherin66 and Pric3y. They gave me reviews, and they motivated me. The Incongruous Infidel and I have even started a long PM discussion, and he/she is really nice. It's cool to get to talk to you people, so don't hesitate to PM me if you ever feel the need to talk.

I'd hoped this chapter would be out last week, but I overestimated my speed at writing. I often do.

-x-x-x-

Mr Beaner brought little Harry to a quaint two-story building, with smoke coming out of its chimney. The walls were painted white, with visible wooden support beams. Harry especially liked the roof; for some unfathomable reason, it's covered in straw.

With his hand on Harry's back, the Frilly Man led them towards the entrance, bypassing several people waiting outside. He opened the door and beckoned Harry in with a brisk hand gesture.

Once inside, he was greeted by an old man with clothes just as frilly as Beaner. It seemed to be popular amongst these people.

"Puis-je prendre votre veste, messire?" the Old Man asked.

"Uhhhh…" Harry said, just as his guide caught up with him.

"He wants to hank up your coat forr you," translated Beaner.

Harry didn't really want to take off his coat, but when the two men just continued waiting with expectant stares, he gave in.

The old man took out a long stick, and waved it over Harry's coat. Disappointingly, there were no sparks or obvious reactions of any sort from the stick. Harry wondered, rather suddenly, if the whole situation was just a hoax engineered by his relatives. But however mean they could be, they weren't malicious enough to do something like this.

Just at that moment, the coat left the Old Man's hands, hovering in the air for a few seconds in front of Harry's surprised eyes, before speeding out of sight.

Unbelievably excited, Harry clapped his hands together, jumping up and down. "Again! Again! Again!" he cried. Suddenly, this whole trip seemed more worthwhile. These people had superpowers!

"You're goink to like it 'ere," announced Frilly Man. "Zere is more to come."

Did all these people wear frills? wondered Harry. If they had really been superheroes, they'd be called the Frillers.

The Old Man led them towards a big double door with funny carvings on it. The door opened with a flick of his wand, and then came a new room to Harry's sight. It was similar to a living room, though Harry did not quite know why he thought that, as it wasn't one at all.

There were several low tables with armchairs around each of them, and two enormous fireplaces were against a wall, with impressive flames dancing in them. The floor was one giant carpet with images of people and animals that were _moving._ Harry was fascinated.

He tried not to trip as he followed the Beaner all the while staring at the place.

"Votre table habituelle, monsieur Binnert," said the old man once they arrived at one of the tables. He pocketed a thick piece of strange paper that had been on it, with something written in the middle. Because of the Old Man's hand, Harry only saw part of the writing, the end of the word.

'-servé'

A bit shy in this place with people eating quietly, drinking quietly and talking quietly and doing everything quietly (he could barely hear the couple a few feet from them as they discussed!), Harry allowed himself to sink down in one of the four armchairs placed around the table, looking down at his knees. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

"We are lucky," said Beaner. "We came just een time to 'ave one of ze best placees."

Harry didn't quite have an answer, or anything intelligent to say to that. "That's… good?"

The man laughed. "Yes eet iz. I haff not eaten yet and eet would haff been annoyink if I could not eat in my favoureet restaurant. Are you hungry?"

Having eaten a late breakfast not long ago, Harry wasn't particularly hungry. At least, not enough to bother the man about it.

"No thank you."

"In French, we say 'non merci'," Beaner informed him.

"Non merci," repeated Harry dutifully.

Despite how hard it was to speak French, he liked how the foreign words sounded. It resembled singing.

"Bonjour et soyez les bienvenus chez la Vieille Chouette."

Harry raised his head and saw that a very pretty lady had approached The Frilly Man and himself. She wore a long sweeping cloak that had to be difficult to navigate in, and it was fastened with an amber brooch. Her long brown hair had been done in a braid, arranged on her head in an elaborate bun. She has holding a leather-bound document that she gave to Frilly Man.

"Deux chocolats chauds, s'il vous plait, avec crème fouettée pour mon compagnon.," he said. Harry would have given anything to understand - he was meeting a language barrier for the first time in his life, and it made him feel a bit unhappy.

Beaner noticed, because once the Lady was gone, he leaned forward to explain: "She iz a waiter, and zis" - he held up the document the Lady had given him - "iz ze menu. I asked her for a hot chocolate for myself, because I do not like tea or coffee. She weel be back soon to take our order."

While they waited, Beaner told Harry about magic, how useful it was. He said that Harry's parents had been very powerful wizards, and had been fighting in a war against a dark lord (Harry didn't know what that last part meant, but with the word 'dark', he guessed it was bad) when they were alive. The dark lord had then killed them, and Harry had managed to survive. After that, the dark lord had never been seen again.

Harry wrung his hands thoughtfully. He didn't quite understand why this dark lord hadn't simply killed his parents with magic. It must have been awfully tedious to have to drive a car into theirs just so they'd die in a car crash. He opened his mouth to ask, but didn't manage to say anything, because the Lady choose that moment to return, carrying something on a serving platter.

"Voilà," she said, placing it on the low table.

"Pourrais-je déjà commander?" asked Beaner.

The Lady listened attentively as he said a few more things, nodded at him, and left. Harry was still staring at what she had laid on the table. There were two mugs of hot chocolate, and the one closest to him had whipped cream on top of it.

Harry had told Frilly Man that he didn't want anything, so why?...

"Well, look at what she brought you! I seenk she likes you. You weel haff to say zank you when she comes back."

Harry blinked, feeling strangely warm. These French people were really nice.

"Okay."

"You can say 'merci pour le breuvage' to her, so she can understand. I don't sink she speaks english."

Mumbling the words to himself, Harry attempted to repeat them correctly, without much success. Frilly Beaner sighed.

"Or you can just say 'merci'."

'Mecri' wasn't too long. It was pronounced like the 'me' of the word 'met', followed by the growling 'r' of the French speakers, and then the 'ci', who was said like the word 'see' or 'sea'. Despite how hard it was to say the 'r', Harry's 'merci' was understandable.

"What does it mean, again?" He had already forgotten.

Frilly Man took a sip of his hot chocolate, looking at Harry. "It means 'thanks'."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ _Okay. I realized, while talking with a fan of this story in a PM conversation, that I haven't made something sufficiently clear here._

_This is a political and psychological story. It is filled with the _manipulations _of people who want to use Harry for their own gain. Also, this is generally written in Harry's pov, though I don't write in first person. So Harry, who is just a child, cannot see what is going on. However, I added enough hints for the readers to get it (unless they are a bunch of nine years olds, you never know). This story is meant to be analyzed. You have to read it and think out the reasons for yourselves, because this fic doesn't give them, it offers only hints._

_For example: The hot chocolate the waitress brought for Harry? Beaner was the one who specifically asked for it, so that Harry would have a good opinion on the French, thinking it was a nice woman who liked him. It's not just a random woman who liked Harry._

_The whole levitating his jacket thing? Another ploy, so that the wonder of magic will always be associated with France, the first place where Harry witnessed it._

_As you can guess in the summary, these people want nothing more but to get their grabby hands on Harry, and are manipulating him into wanting to stay._

_I thought I was being obvious about it while not outright saying it, but that was my mistake. I'm telling you now - read this while keeping in mind that when it comes to the adults in this fic, at least, there is always an ulterior motive._

_I added a message similar to this one in the first chapter, to explain it to newcomers, and I'd appreciate it if you read the message on the first chapter too, because it is a bit more informative. **So please, go back to the first chapter and read the message there, too.**_

-x-x-x-

"What I do not unterstand," said Beaner as the food was deposited on their table, "is why zey do not protect you, zese Breetish people."

"Protect me?" Harry parroted, confused. He did not know why he should be 'protected'.

"Yes. Ze dark lord wanteed to kill you with your parents, but eet didn't work, and he dissappeared. Unfortunately for you, ze dark lord has many servants-"

"What does 'servant' mean?"

"It means those who work for him. Now, as I waz sayink, ze dark lord has many of zese servants, people who work for him, that want to do what the dark lord deedn't manage to do." He began gently cutting off a thin slice of salami from the thick sausage, and placed it on a piece of buttered fresh bread.

His eyebrows coming together in a frown, Harry tried to make sense of what had been told. "What did the dark lord not manage to do?"

"He deedn't manage to keel you."

"K-kill me?" The prospect seemed horrifying to his child mind. He didn't want to die.

"Yes, and now ze people who work for 'im want revenge, zey want to keel you."

"But why?" Harry's eyes were glistening with tears. "I didn't do anything!"

The Frilly Man set his sandwich down and leaned forward.

"'Arry, zere are many bac men in zis world. I don't know why, but zey exist. And zese Breetish men, who work for ze dark lord, zey are angry at you because zey sink it ess your fault that the dark lord disappeared after killing your parents."

Harry crossed his arms. "But I didn't-"

"Yes," said Beaner, interrupting him, "I know you didn't. But zese men are stupid bad men. Zat iz why I am surprised you leev wid people that do not know magick. Zese Dursleys can't protect you, 'arry."

Harry's chin trembled. Beaner looked at him, and his eyes softened. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't worry. Now zat we know with who you are, wee vill protect you. You can stay herr in France, where the bad men can't hurt you."

That seemed just a bit too good to be true. "I can do that?"

Lips quirking up, Beaner nodded in a solemn manner. "Well, you signed ze letter that invites you to our school, of magick. Zat means you are now a student here een France, and will learn to do magick."

Harry's ensuing grin, though shy, could be likened to the brilliance of the sun.

-x-x-x-

They left the restaurant with both their bellies pleasantly full of delicious food. Since Beaner couldn't do his teleportation trick without making Harry feel sick, they would have to find another manner of transportation to make their way to the important place Beaner called '_Ministère'_.

So, they headed towards a horse-drawn carriage further along the busy street. It was the only carriage there, with a few passing people looking at it curiously. Harry had never seen a real carriage before, with horses. He had only ever seen drawings in picture books. This one was pretty, all red, with a big shiny sun drawn on the door, just under the window. The wheels were bigger and thinner than car wheels, and seemed to be made of wood and metal. They were very shiny.

A man who had been sitting on a seat outside the carriage, by the front, opened up the door with the sun on it.

Harry stared.

"You can go in," said Beaner, when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to move.

"Can't we just take a car?"

"...No."

"Oh." Harry looked nervously at the winged horses that would be pulling the carriage. "Okay."

And then he went inside.

The Frilly Man followed him, and sat down on one of the two padded benches. Harry frowned down at them. Were they benches, or sofas? They weren't big enough to be sofas, and they were too comfortable to be mere benches.

"Seet down," said the Frilly Man, "or you might fall over when ze horses start moving."

"What are they? Unicorns?"

Snorting, Beaner shook his head. "No, zey are _Chollima_, given to _le Ministère_ as a prezent from Asia. They are ze best."

Harry observed the elegant horses, with their powerful legs and with their great big wings, which instead of coming out of their back like in stories, started by their massive chests, and poked out of the body after the abdomen, near the barrel, extending upwards.

The horses looked strange, _abnormal_. They were very thin, nearly translucent, and looked like a breeze could blow them away. However, their chests were enormous, all the muscles used for flight stored there as well as all the way down to their flanks. Harry thought that despite how queer they were, they didn't seem to be that frightening.

Then one of them opened its mouth, a cloud of orange smoke came out, and Harry revised his opinion.

He definitely did _not _like these horses.


End file.
